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The Genesis Wave has left a deadly legacy in its wake...The full extent of the devastation caused by the Genesis Wave is only now truly being recognised. An entire sector of space has been reduced to the most primative levels, and more than one high-tech interstellar opportunist is rushing in to take advantage of the situation. Standing against them is the Genesis Force, a covert Federation group of humans and aliens with extra abilities greater than those of the average humanoid. Their mission is to protect the people of the newly named Genesis Sector from those who would seek to conquer and exploit them.

• Sales Rank: #2460215 in Books
• Published on: 2003-07-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.52" h x 1.08" w x 5.86" l,
• Binding: Hardcover
• 320 pages

Review
Wigglefish.com The plot is a fiery fling into adventure [with] chills as well as chuckles. -- Review

About the Author
John Vornholt is the author of several bestsellling Star Trek novels including two of the hugely successful four-volume Next Generation/Deep Space Nine DOMINION WAR sequence.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

The screaming, the panic, the smell of blood -- those he could handle. The roar of the shuttlecraft, the rioting mob, the fires burning throughout the city, the rage of his men as they fired disruptors at the populace -- those he could understand. But the tingle on his brawny neck all the way to his forehead ridges -- that terrified him. As he looked over his shoulder at the smoke blackening the skies, he could sense that something monstrous was rushing this way, searing across the heavens, destroying all in its path.

The ambassador didn't even recall what planet he was standing on with his troop of so-called peacekeepers. There had been so many doomed worlds, and every evacuation was more difficult as word spread across the quadrant of the Genesis Wave. It truly bothered him that fewer would get off this planet than should have, thanks to their unruly behavior, but he could accept their panic. What he could not accept was dying in a stupid, mindless disaster like this. It was such a waste! And trying to save the last few stragglers of a doomed race wasn't a warrior's death either. Their rescue fleet had saved over a hundred thousand on this planet alone -- and a hundred million in total -- but what was that, when billions stood to die?

They looked so much like humans, too. Unarmored, they died swiftly under the fiery disintegration of the disruptors.

Worried voices barked from the com medallion on his shoulder, warning him that their time was running out. Less than six minutes remained before the destruction would overtake them. From his command post on the park's sledding hill, the ambassador surveyed a city recreation area that was swollen with frightened citizens, all just realizing they were about to die. It was clear to him that the maddened and ever-growing mob would not let any more Klingon shuttlecraft land. Their transporters were working over capacity, snapping people from the crowd at random. Another two hundred or so could be saved if they let the shuttlecraft land, but at this point who could select two hundred worthy citizens from this berserk rabble? The planet's own authority and civilization had broken down, or else this mob wouldn't have swamped their position.

A rock landed at his feet, and he realized that he and his security force were under increased attack. "Take me with you!" and "Take my child!," he heard them yell, even while they threw debris at him. It was a good thing this was a peace-loving world with few weapons. Why his superiors thought a former Starfleet officer would have better luck dealing with distraught people than a captain or an admiral, he didn't know. In the end, nothing of his experience aboard the Enterprise had prepared him for this grim work. Now the deadly wave had actually caught up with them, meaning that this ignominious retreat was the last chance they had to save lives. With bitterness in his heart, Ambassador Worf concluded that it was time to cut their losses and flee.

"batlh Daqawhu'taH!" he bellowed to those who were about to die. To the officers under his command, he shouted, "Squadron, regroup for transporter operations! Form ranks!"

Worf waved them to the top of the hill, and his troopersscurried to retreat, even while they fired into the crowd to keep them at bay. Worf worried that once they saw his men transporting, they would charge into the beams and disrupt the retreat. Why not? They had nothing to lose. He could see many of the doomed people screaming to the blackened sky, begging the random transporters to take them.

He tapped his com medallion and said, "Worf to Mission Command."

"Command here," answered a female officer. "Ambassador, do you know we only have five minutes before -- "

"Yes," he answered testily. "Lock on to the signal of myself and the security detail. We all need to go at once, because our position will be overrun. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledged. Then we must suspend rescue operations."

"Yes," answered Worf, ducking from an errant bottle thrown his way. "Recall the shuttlecraft."

No sooner had the words escaped from his lips than one of the shuttlecraft swooped close into the crowd, attempting to land. That should have sent the mob scurrying, but instead one of them in a uniform knelt down and shot what looked like a phaser beam into the underbelly of the shuttlecraft. It exploded in a rupture of power packs and fuel that blew out the impulse engines and sent the craft plunging into the shrieking crowd. The vessel wasn't more than five meters off the ground before it dove, so no one in the path had time to get away. From the spot of the crash, a wave of shock spread among the rabble like ripples in a pool, as they tried to flee. But there was nowhere to run, because no place on the planet was safe with the Genesis Wave bearing down on them.

"Hold that transport order!" shouted Worf into his com device. "One of the shuttlecraft has crashed into the crowd -- brought down by hostile fire."

Several of his officers were already shooting vengefully into the mob, trying to drive them back from the flaming wreck. It would never fly again, but the passenger cabin was built to withstand impact, fire, and planetary reentry. Despite its singed appearance, it wasn't badly damaged. There was a good chance that the two-member crew had survived the crash, but they wouldn't survive that rabid crowd for long.

"Command, lock on to the crew of the downed shuttlecraft," ordered Worf.

"Unable to, my lord," she answered. "There's a neutrino radiation leak, probably from the cryo reactants in the coil assembly. Scanner readings are unreliable, and we'd have to get them out of there fast. Of course, we have less than five minutes, anyway. Let us proceed with your transportation at once."

The locals were leaping into the flames of the wreck, and some scrambled to the top of the shuttlecraft and began to pull at latches and hatches. When his men picked them off with shots that were dangerously close to the craft, Worf yelled, "Squadron, hold your fire! Follow me to the shuttlecraft and surround it. SuH tugh!"

Worf waved his arm and led the charge down the hill into the crazed masses, already driven more frantic by the crash. The weight of impending doom hung over all of them, and he wondered when they would cease this denial. They had to stop rioting and prepare themselves to meet death with dignity. Then again, he thought, maybe Klingons would have behaved the same way, because it was natural to want to fight such a cruel fate. With steely reserve, he joined his men in shooting defenseless, unarmed citizens who were crowding in against them, as he fought his way toward the fallen shuttlecraft. His troops were spread out behind him, some of them too far back.

"Don't let them take your weapons!" he ordered. "Don't let them touch you -- keep them back!" But the huge crowd had figured out what the Klingons were doing, and it pressed forward like an octopus wrapping its tentacles around a small fish. Despite the mayhem the Klingons unleashed upon them, this doomed populace had no reason to resist mob rule and every reason to discount death. He heard a mangled shout in Klingon and turned to see an officer at the end of the column get swamped by half a dozen rioters. His fellows tried to blast the attackers, but they couldn't fire with abandon for fear of hitting their comrade.

While Worf's attention was distracted, one man jumped him, while another grabbed his legs. He smashed the first attacker with the butt of his disruptor rifle and kicked fiercely at the second, while he sent an arcing disruptor beam through the crowd. Only turning into a berserk madman allowed him to fight his way through them, but he was determined enough to reach the smoldering wreck of the shuttlecraft. He slammed against the singed gray hull, glad that no one could reach him from behind, and pawed his com medallion.

"Worf to Mission Command!" he barked. "Evacuate as many of the away team as you can, immediately."

"Yes sir," she replied. "We cannot get a lock on you or anyone near the shuttlecraft, because of the interference."

With relief, Worf saw the closest three of his men disappear in a sparkling mosaic of transporter molecules, and he shot a beam into the crowd to keep them at bay. Most looked confused and stunned, or contrite, and only a few were enraged to the point of insanity, but these few were enough to cause considerable trouble. He looked back at the shuttlecraft and thought he heard someone banging from inside. Then again, it could have been the mob shaking the craft from the other side.

"MajQa'," he told Mission Command. "Evacuate our men but keep one transporter room open for me and the survivors. Give me a countdown when we near our drop-dead departure time."

"With all due respect, Ambassador, our drop-dead countdown ended thirty seconds ago. Only the flagship remains in orbit." Her voice grew steely. "We want you back now."

"Keep taking the away team!" answered Worf, shooting a rabid citizen who rushed him with a shovel in his hands. "Give me a chance to free them -- beam us up when we get away from the wreck. If you're not present then, I will understand."

"Pulling back to maximum transporter range, with best trajectory for emergency warp escape," reported Command icily, as if she were talking to a dead man. "We will remember you with honor. End contact."

Worf was glad he had fired his disruptor very little until now, because he needed to constantly rake the crowd with the deadly beam in order to keep them away. Those in front often didn't want to come closer but were pushed by the mob from behind -- everyone wanted to see the bungling Klingons who had failed to save them. More than a few wanted to tear him apart. They blamed the Federation, because this awful weapon had originated with them, even if no one knew who wielded it now. Then Starfleet had promised more help than they could deliver, even when aided by both the Klingons and Romulans. Worf didn't know who in the Federation had done all the promising to the doomed Genesis worlds, but he would look them up when this was over.

He heard a bang above his head and was alerted a second before someone slid over the top of the shuttlecraft and onto his back. The attacker tried to get his weapon, and Worf gave him the butt of it in his midsection. In fighting this close, he'd rather have a bat'leth than this useless rifle. Still, Worf managed to batter the attacker away, mow down a few more in the wailing crowd, and jump up on a strut. From there he scrambled to the top of the boxy craft, which was meant to carry sixteen passengers, or fourteen fully equipped warriors. Now standing atop the shuttle, Worf was bombarded by rocks and other thrown debris. He crouched down and lowered his bone-plated forehead to take most of the lumps, while his hands worked on opening the side hatch, which faced upward. It took only a few seconds to realize it was jammed shut. Brute strength wouldn't open it, and time was running out.

He banged on the hatch with his rifle and shouted, "Are you alive?"

"Yes! Yes!" He heard a faint voice, which was enough to keep him working, despite the abuse he was absorbing. There was no rear door on this vessel, and the other door was under the dirt. So he pulled a small explosive device, a jorwI', from his sash, set it for five seconds, and placed it inside the recessed latch compartment. An egg suddenly hit him on the left side of his face and dribbled down his chin, but he ignored it while he drew another jorwI' from his sash. This charge he placed where the impact had formed a crack in the hatch's seal.

"Get back!" he bellowed to the survivors inside. "Explosive charge!" With that, Worf armed both devices at the same instant, not seeing the crazed citizen reach the top of the craft. As Worf stood up, the local charged him and grabbed his waist, knocking the disruptor rifle out of his hands. Worf wanted to jump off before the explosion; instead he had to battle the deranged man while the seconds ticked away on the charges. Not only that, but somebody had grabbed his fallen disruptor rifle, and blasted a wild beam that went streaking over his head.

Worf whirled his attacker around just as the beam sliced into the man's back, shielding Worf from the deadly disruptor. His scream turned into a gurgle as the blast hit his body in a blazing yellow burst. Worf jumped off the opposite side of the shuttlecraft, just as another errant beam crackled through the air. The twin explosions went off, hurling Worf another few feet into the crowd. He rolled in a somersault, reached for his mek'leth, and came up slashing anyone who tried to mob him.

He fought his way back to the crushed hull of the shuttlecraft, just in time to see a pilot clamber out the smoking hatch on top. A disruptor beam sheared the hull, shooting sparks, but the pilot was armed and fired back. He continued to fire at the crowd, while his comrade crawled out -- she was holding her arm and had blood on her vest, clearly wounded. Still the crowd was enraged at the sight of these two would-be rescuers, who could still escape the horrible fate that awaited their whole planet. The screaming throng surged like an ocean in a storm, threatening to engulf the shuttlecraft, and Worf wasn't sure they could get far enough away from it to be rescued.

"Look at the sky!" shouted someone. Then everyone cried the same words.

Attention was diverted from the three Klingons and their wrecked vessel to the northern sky, where the gray clouds had just turned a vivid green. A flaming curtain swept over the distant mountains, throbbing and mutating as if distorted by heat. Distant majestic peaks erupted in fury, disappearing into rolling clouds of ash and steam.

"tugh!" shouted Worf, waving for his comrades to follow him as he ran from the shuttle. The two pilots leaped into the crowd, many of whom had fallen to their knees in awe and supplication, and they reached Worf just as the tingle of the transporter beam gripped his spine. He felt the ground trembling and saw the buildings and monorails writhe like snakes on fire. Then mercifully their molecules disappeared from the planet just as the monstrous wall of neon fire blasted every animal, rock, and blade of grass into a churning mass of grotesque tissue.

Worf and the two shuttle pilots collapsed onto a transporter pad in a dimly lit Klingon vessel. "Qapla'!" exclaimed the transporter operator, as another crew member slapped him on the back. "Transporter room six to bridge," he barked. "Ambassador Worf and two crew members have been recovered. Request medical attention."

"Acknowledged," came the answer from the first officer. "Ambassador, emergency departure was successful, and we are now at warp eight, moving quickest route out of the path of the Genesis Wave. We have refugees to deliver at Starbase 309. After that, do you have any orders?"

Worf rose to his feet and shook the dirt and garbage off his uniform, while an underling handed him fresh ambassadorial robes. He wiped the drying egg off his face, too, and it reminded him of a Terran colloquialism. Having egg on his face was fitting, because this effort had been anything but a success. Their combined response to this terrible disaster bordered on failure, and he was supposed to be the Klingons' liaison to the Federation. They couldn't begin to move fast enough, and Starfleet had so far failed to find the source of the wave. It was too late for billions of souls --

"I want to visit one of these wrecked planets to see the aftermath," answered Worf with grim determination. "I've seen it coming straight toward me, and now I want to see what it has left behind. There will be a time of reckoning."

"As you say, my lord," agreed the first officer. "Setting course for Starbase 309."

Copyright © 2003 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Carry on
By Rimillia
Haven't had a chance reading it yet. Like all STTNG and original, they keep you guessing as I'm sure this book will once I am able to read the first three in the collection. Beam me up.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
A good travelling read
By M. Hall
If you are a Star Trek fan, this is worth a listen. Personally, the best Star Trek Book to listen to is the New Frontier Anvil, however this is a good travel listen also.

4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
Abysmal
By Jedidiah Carosaari
There is good science fiction out there. There are good Trek novels. This isn't them. This was awful.

It started out interestingly enough. The author explores in depth a number of characters on an non-Federation planet. We see a new culture, and new people. But even here there are a lot of missed opportunities. The culture is not delved into; we see few differences in culture other than what you might find on earth. Indeed, this culture is about as different from 20th century American culture as 20th century England is. It is written like a TOS episode, without a great deal of imagination.

The book goes downhill from there. There are few explanations for the events which follow. Characters are not believable, and amazingly flat. I have no idea why most of them did what they did. The Enterprise shows up at the last second, and I think saves the day, but there was no point to include them, other than that this is a Star Trek novel. There are scenes of amazing gruesomeness, which one does not usually find in a Trek novel or show- and there is no point to their inclusion. Except perhaps to claim to be cutting edge by being gruesome. I'm reading this novel, thinking that there are only about ten pages left- how are they going to satisfactorily resolve everything? Sure enough, they resolve everything- and it's anything but satisfactory. It's like there was a page limit, and the author realized that there were only ten pages to finish up the story, so lets come up with any old way to fix things.

The first half of the novel is in-depth; the second half rushed and confusing. I feel like I wasted an evening.

See all 15 customer reviews...

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^ PDF Ebook The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, by K.J. Anderson

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A rip-roaring novelisation based on the bestselling League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen comic book series by Alan Moore, soon to be a major motion picture starring Sean Connery and Stuart Townsend. London, 1899. As the British Empire lies in mortal jeopardy, a top-secret initiative unites several of the most illustrious (and sometimes infamous) personages of the age: Allan Quartermain, famed explorer and adventurer; Captain Nemo, master of the undersea submersible Nautilus: Dr. Henry Jekyll and his brutish alter ego, Mr. Hyde; Rodney Skinner, the Invisible Man; Dorian Gray, the ageless subject of a diabolical portrait; Mina Murray (nee Harker), surviving victim of the late Count Dracula and a scrappy American secret agent named Tom Sawyer. Together they form THE LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN. When a criminal mastermind known only as 'The Fantom' plots to hurl the world into war, The League must race across the globe to foil the masked madman's insidious scheme. But they may not have reckoned with the traitor in their midst...

• Sales Rank: #1394922 in Books
• Published on: 2003-07-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.60" h x .90" w x 4.10" l, .33 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 304 pages

Features

• Allan Quatermain
• Tom Sawyer
• Doctor Jekyll
• Captain Nemo
• Dorian Gray

About the Author
K. J. Anderson writing as Kevin Anderson has over 15 million books in print in 27 languages worldwide. He is the author of, among others, the X-FILES novels GROUND ZERO and the JEDI ACADEMY trilogy of STAR WARS novels - the three bestselling SF novels of 1994. He has also co-written the international bestselling prequels to Frank Herbert's monumental DUNE series. He has won, or been nominated for many awards including the Nebula Award and the Bram Stoker Award.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Central London, 1899
Night

On the edge of a century's turning, London was a sprawling mosaic of crooked tile roofs, shuttered windows, cobblestone streets, and garbage-strewn alleyways. Fog crept through the city like pestilence, mixing with the foul breaths of smoke from coal grates and great belches from factory smokestacks. Cold buildings huddled together as if seeking warmth against the night's chill.

Nearly two millenia of history had seen London evolve from a Roman settlement to a Saxon stronghold, then a burgeoning commercial center and religious axis. Ultimately, London became a pinnacle of European political might as well as a powerful industrial hub. World-shaking events would begin -- or end -- here.

For decades now this place had endured the turns of the industrial revolution, which had transformed it from a grand city of one million inhabitants into a vast metropolis teeming with more than four times as many people, all of them trying their best to survive.

In the distance Big Ben chimed its lonely but predictable tones. Most people no longer even awakened to the clock tower's hourly ritual, especially not so late. The steady sequence of gongs drifted past like a lullaby, reassuring the city's sleeping inhabitants that all was well.

Big Ben fell silent again, and so did the streets.

Then a low rumble started deep underground, as if the convoluted sewers near the Thames suffered from indigestion.

In Moorgate Passage, a pair of dogs hungrily dug through garbage in search of edible scraps, as they did every night. They half-heartedly snarled at each other, too hungry to notice the mysterious sounds.

But the noise rose steadily in volume, like buried, restless thunder. The ominous trembling grew louder and louder, shaking forcefully until it rattled loose roof slates and chimney pots....

One mutt lifted his head and pricked his ears. The second dog used the opportunity to seize a rank-smelling fish head from the trash heap and bounded away with his prize. Then he, too, paused, whining. His jaws opened and the moist fish head fell to the slick street. The rumble grew more ominous, a different sort of growl.

The two dogs snarled at the sound that seemed to come from everywhere beneath and around them, then they scuttled away in fear. The second mutt doubled back to snatch up the fish head, then sprang down the alley just as the sound reached an explosive roar.

A dark brick wall at the opposite end of the alley split and broke as something huge, black, and mechanical hammered its way up from beneath the streets, knocking bricks and timbers apart. Walls fell, brushed aside from the leviathan as if they were little more than dust and dry leaves.

Both dogs ran for their lives as the immense subterranean machine roared and clanked after them.

Though he had been deeply asleep, immersed in dreams of playing in the park with his father on a Sunday afternoon, Bartholomew Dunning sat up quickly in bed. The pallid six-year-old boy clutched an old woolen blanket and stared into the faint light that came through the window of his cellar bedroom. On a narrow brick windowsill above the bed, his tin toy horse and buggy shuddered and rattled, as if they had come alive.

The rumbling made the entire tenement shake. Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling, captured in the hazy moonlight that penetrated the fog.

Bartholomew wanted to call out for his father, but he knew Constable Dunning would be out walking the streets, keeping London safe, as he did every night...all night. But right now the boy wanted his father. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, hoping to hide. But the noise grew louder.

The toys jittered and wobbled, then finally tumbled off the windowsill. More dust sifted down from the tenement ceiling, and Bartholomew could hear shouts from the residents in the floors above.

Gathering his courage, thinking of his father in his fine policeman's uniform striding down dark alleys and arresting pickpockets and murderers, Bartholomew scurried out of bed as the monstrous noise came deafeningly close. Someone upstairs let out a loud yell.

Because his father worked every night, and slept most of the day, Bartholomew could spend time with him only on Sunday. But Constable Dunning put food on the table and coal in the grate for the boy and his two sisters; they had to care for themselves without a mother to watch over them. His sisters snored together in the inner room, not even awakened by the noise. It was up to the boy to see what was happening outside.

Shrill whistles pierced the growing noise, and he took comfort in knowing the police were rushing to the scene.

Bartholomew went to the window, stood on tiptoe, and used the flat of his hand to wipe fog from the pane. The glass remained blurry from the grime outside, but an immense shadow passed along the street. When he pressed his face close, the boy could see well enough that his eyes widened in fear.

Massive mechanical treads rolled past at street level, crushing cobblestones, clanking and clattering like the loudest factory line.

Bartholomew's windows splintered and fell in. He screamed, scrambling backward as the whole frame came crashing down. Part of the wall and ceiling slumped under the crushing passage of the huge vehicle. Broken bricks and crumbling mortar buried and destroyed his toy horse and buggy.

He crawled for shelter under his bed, a place usually reserved for nighttime monsters. Right now, though, the boy was only afraid of the very real and tangible beast outside.

Then the mechanical juggernaut surged past, smashing gutters and shouldering aside brick corners that got in its way.

As dust and rubble continued to patter all around him, Bartholomew peered out from his hiding place. Safe, for now.

But he knew his father was out in the streets, armed with little more than his whistle and truncheon. Even a stern constable in a clean uniform would be no match for that thing.

Tabard Row had been quiet all evening, and Constable Dunning paused in his rounds to smoke his pipe. He took a long draw on the tobacco, savoring the moment of bliss.

His children were home together, asleep. Their mother had died of consumption two years earlier, and the boy Bartholomew had been forced to grow up much faster than he should have. Once, he'd playfully tried on his father's constable cap, and it had nearly fallen down to his small shoulders. Bartholomew was the man of the house whenever his father left to patrol the night streets, and the boy took his responsibilities with admirable, heart-aching seriousness, though his father occasionally saw him playing with his toys. Just a little boy, no more than six years old.

At least he was safe tonight....

Constable Dunning's peaceful feeling was suddenly shattered by the pitiful wailing of dogs. A moment later a monstrous rumble shook the ground, accompanied by breaking glass and shattering walls.

Dunning drew his baton and trotted toward the sound, by habit tapping his truncheon on the wall as he went, making a sound like rapid gunfire. Shrill whistles sounded the alarm from other officers heading in the same direction. Drawing a deep breath, he blew a long high-pitched note on his own whistle.

"It's down in Moorgate Passage!" one of the policemen called, joining up with Dunning. They ran together, reacting out of instinct without stopping to worry about the nature of the threat. From the sound of it, this was more serious than a drunken brawl, a cutpurse, or a pair of whores trying to claw each others' eyes out.

The two constables sprinted onto Threadneedle Street, heading for Moorgate. Dunning stumbled and nearly sprawled on his face in a filthy gutter as he and his companion collided with a pair of utterly terrified dogs racing in the opposite direction, off into the night.

"Bleedin' ratbags! What's gotten into 'em?" said Dunning.

Then again, perhaps the mutts had the right idea.

Like a factory-made demon, a giant armor-plated machine careened around -- and through -- a corner of the narrow street, demolishing everything in its path.

"Good Christ!" Dunning's companion skittered to a halt, eyes wide. His truncheon drooped in his grip, laughably insignificant compared to the mechanized titan lurching toward them with a roar of engines and a belch of oily exhaust smoke.

It was a tank vehicle plated with thick iron sheets riveted into place on a body that rode on implacable paired tracks. Glaring headlamps shone forward like the baleful gaze of a dragon. Its reinforced bow slammed like a battering ram through the wall, knocking it down without pause. The heavy treads crushed fallen bricks into powder. Dunning couldn't even guess how many tons the vehicle must weigh.

Three other constables converged from their own beats, stopped in their tracks. "It's an infernal juggernaut!"

"Run!" Dunning's tone was urgent as he backed away. Not cowardly -- just sensible. There would be no real protection against a mechanized leviathan that could plow through solid walls.

While three of the policemen staggered backward, Dunning's companion took an unexpected initiative. Swallowing hard, he raised his truncheon, stepped into the middle of the street, and blew his whistle again for good measure. He stood his ground in the glare of the behemoth's headlights, raised his hand, and said, "Halt! In the name of the Queen!"

"Get out of the way, you fool!" Dunning shouted.

When the land ironclad did not slow down, the man tried to dodge into a doorway, but the lumbering vehicle filled the narrow street. The young constable was caught between the treads and went down. His scream was cut short with a wet, squelching sound under the increasing roar of the demonic engines.

The tank moved onward, without pause.

Sickened and angry, Dunning ran to his comrade's aid, but he arrived too late. Courageously -- though futilely -- he beat the metal monster with his baton and his fists. He made barely a mark on the thick plating.

Ignoring him, the land ironclad rolled on down the street.

Dunning ran after the machine, not knowing how he might stop its inexorable progress. The street opened up, away from the crowded slums, grimy pubs, and dim opium dens. Ahead stood a particularly impressive building with an ornate multistoried facade of marble columns, graceful statues, and stately blocks of gray-white stone.

Dunning's stomach clenched as he glanced up at the deeply engraved words bank of england on the lintel over the building's main entrance. "Not the Old Lady," he muttered, hardly able to conceive of such a violation.

The tank rolled toward it, picking up speed.

The privately owned bank, often referred to as the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, had been established more than two centuries earlier. In the past two hundred years, the Bank of England had become more than simply a financial institution: The Old Lady was a symbol of England itself.

The juggernaut smashed into the bank's broad central door. Columns broke apart and tumbled down; the massive locked door collapsed inward.

And the mammoth machine kept moving forward all the way into the financial fortress, undeterred.

The tank's heavy treads, now bloodstained, clattered down a flight of marble steps that groaned and cracked under the immense weight. Picking up speed, the land ironclad ground its way across the polished marble floor of the lobby.

A night contingent of British soldiers guarding the bank drew their guns and opened fire. Like hail pattering on a tin roof, the bullets ricocheted ineffectually off the iron armor plates. The panicked soldiers leaped aside as the tank smashed through teller desks, back offices, records archives, private consultation rooms lined with security boxes -- and finally into the vault room.

Constable Dunning came running after it, picking his way through the rubble of stone and splintered wood and glass. He was aghast at the sheer carnage all around him. The soldiers recovered themselves then yelled indignant threats after the rampaging machine. Scrambling together, they all raced toward the vault room.

As if stymied, the mechanical monster came to rest against the massive iron door of the vault.

Dust and debris settled in ominous silence as Dunning and the soldier guards crept purposefully into the vault room. "Hah!" Dunning called, a bit disoriented by the frantic activity going on around him. "That door's too solid even for a beast like that!"

Several other constables, panting hard from their long run, entered the bank and stared at all the destruction.

The tank just sat there, throbbing, pressed up against the thick vault door. It seemed to be defeated...or simply gathering its breath, preparing to strike again.

The shaken soldiers arose and, together with the constables, encircled the machine. Dunning edged closer, peering at one of the scraped plates on the front of the tank. "What is it doing?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

With a loud clang, a panel opened and two human eyes stared out through the narrow slot. Dunning sprang back with a yelp. The slot slammed shut. "There're men inside that thing!"

Clanking, winding, slotting sounds began to emanate from within the mechanical beast. A panel thwacked open on top of the machine, and a fat cylinder extended, swiveled about in search of a target, then locked into place. It was aimed at the vault door.

Everyone there could recognize a cannon barrel when they saw it.

"Get back!" shouted Dunning. He clapped his hands over his ears, but many of the others didn't react quickly enough.

The weapon fired with a deafening sound as if all the heavens had cracked asunder. The shock wave in the enclosed vault room threw constables and soldiers to the ground. The merciless cannon fired again, and then a third time.

Finally, the massive, dented vault door teetered, slumped, and at last fell inward. It crashed to the stone floor with a sound as deafening as the artillery explosions.

The air inside the ruined bank was thick with choking dust. The men's ears were bleeding. Dunning shook his head to clear it; with the back of one hand, he wiped powder and sweat from his eyes.

A thick metal hatch opened high on the juggernaut's flank and a step ladder cantilevered down. Men wearing easily recognizeable German army uniforms emerged, led by a pale-eyed man who wore cruelty on his face as naturally as another man might wear a moustache. The uniformed men carried sleek, modern-looking snub-nosed firearms and boxy radio sets on their hips.

Constable Dunning had never seen anything like it. He had heard, though, the Kaiser had been stepping up his war effort, planning against the British Empire. And here was the proof!

The foremost invader turned back to the dark interior of the massive ironclad machine. He spoke in clipped German. "We are ready, Herr Fantom."

Only then did their leader step into the open, emerging from the infernal machine. Dramatically garbed in black clothes and a sweeping cape, the man cut a formidable presence. He wore gleaming black boots, crisp gloves -- and a frightening silver mask that hid most of his features. Dunning caught only a partial glimpse of a terribly disfigured face.

Dunning stared, burning the Fantom's face into his memory. He had read something about a similar murderous villain who had terrorized the Paris Opera House, not many years ago. But that Fantom had supposedly been killed....

Now the man in the metal mask gazed around the room, ignoring the astonished constables and soldiers as if they were no more relevant than insects.

"Ah, I love a night out in London," the leader said in German. "Leutnant Dante, instruct our men to go about their work. We have other appointments to keep."

The cruel-faced Dante dispatched a team of German soldiers who scrambled out of the land ironclad and into the vault. Others, brandishing their futuristic snub-nosed weapons, held the intimidated bank soldiers and constables at bay.

When the invaders marched brazenly into the ruins of the Bank of England vault, one of the British guards broke free. "Here now, you can't be -- "

With a flourish, the Fantom pulled out a snub-nosed gun and callously shot the outspoken British guard between the eyes. As the guard crumpled, the masked leader tossed his gun to Lieutenant Dante. "Leave one of them alive to tell the tale. Only one. What you do with the rest...I leave to your vivid imagination."

Striding through the debris, his cape flowing behind him as if no dust would dare cling to his black clothes, the Fantom entered the vault, leaving Dante and the others to their given tasks.

As the ruthless executions began, Constable Dunning squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his children.

As the crack of gunfire and pleading screams resounded from outside the vault, the Fantom's Germans used crowbars and the butts of their weapons to break open security boxes of all sizes. The men spilled the contents onto the floor -- bank notes, gold, jewelry, bonds -- but they were searching for something in particular.

An eager henchman picked up a gold brick and could not help admiring it. "Such treasures."

"Treasure, yes," the Fantom agreed, hardly sparing a glance for the chunk of precious metal. "Some worth more than others."

With a gloved hand, the masked man snapped the latch of a mahogany plan-chest and reverently drew open the long drawer to reveal a sheaf of fragile parchment. He lifted one sheet, then another. Behind the metal mask his eyes darted back and forth.

The pages of age-yellowed paper bore hand-drawn architectural plans of a city on water, its deep foundations crumbling and cavernous. In spite of the faded ink, the detail was incredible, drawn by a genius centuries ago.

"Ah, here is the key to our labyrinth." The horribly scarred lips, barely visible beneath the silver mask, smiled. The Fantom snatched up the pages and swept out of the vault, ignoring the rest of the gold and treasure. "Time to go. We have what we need."

Outside, Constable Dunning huddled in horror and misery, his face spattered with blood. As relieved as he was to be alive, he felt a piercing guilt at being the only survivor among dozens of slaughtered policemen and soldier guards. The German henchmen ignored him as they climbed back aboard the land ironclad.

The Fantom also vanished inside the vehicle, while his lieutenant spared a final glance for the surviving constable, who seemed oblivious to the departing soldiers. Dante said to him, "Count your blessings."

Then he swung the hatch shut, and the land ironclad roared back off the way it had come.

Copyright © 2003 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation. All rights reserved.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Best version of LXG!
By Jack + Beep
The novelisation is really the best version of this concept--and I've seen the film, and read all the comics too. I still like the novelisation best, and would recommend it highly if everyone weren't such comic-elitists about this story! It's a super fun adventure fanfic, a wonderful light read.

8 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
Eh...
By Amanda Pike
League of not-so-great gentlemen:
A review of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

Okay, where do I begin?

I know this is not the famous graphic novel. They misleadingly market this novelization of the film to appear to be a novel based off the graphic novel. It is not. It's a novel based off the film script. Well, okay. I figured I could like it for what it was...

In regard to the film, when the making of footage shows the director of film (which was based off a graphic novel with the intention of getting young people interested in reading the classics again) goes out of his way tell you 'The characters in this movie are from these huge, archaic books I never read so I found a writer that at least read some of them.' That's the first warning sign that a film is in trouble.

I think my biggest pet peeve, and ironically also my favorite part, was Dorian Gray in the film and novelization. It was not Dorian Gray of the novel, not authentically anyway. This version of Dorian dies when he looks at the painting. This bothers me because so many people who have never read The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde now think that looking at the painting would kill Dorian. I've heard of people arguing with those who have read the book to insist that they, the reader, got it wrong, that stabbing the painting doesn't kill him, it's looking at it! WRONG! Dorian looked at the painting a lot in the book, that was sort of the point.

A big issue with this Dorian is M stole the painting from Dorian's Foyer. Quartermain notices the spot where it had been. If looking at it would kill him why did Dorian have it hanging in his foyer? Did he cover his eyes every time he walked into his home?

Now for the serious flaws of the time-line.

Tom Sawyer's story takes place with him, at age twelve, before the civil war. That means it has be before 1865. Tom Sawyear cannot be a teenager in 1899.

Mina Harker: Mina Harker's story (Dracula) takes place in 1897. So In two years she was made a vampire, widowed, dated Dorian, and became a Chemist?

Dorian Gray: Dorian Gray becomes immortal in 1891 (The Picture of Dorian Gray). So In those eight years he lectured at a university where Quartermain was a boy as according to this... Less than eight years after college and Quartermain looks like that? The boy didn't age well!

Another thing about the film that didn't sit right for me is Dorian's life was in danger. M had something that could kill him at any time, and Mina pretty much executed Dorian for that. But because Dorian once broke up with her and that's okay? M might as well have had a gun to him the whole time but Mina was right to kill him? Sure Dorian acted cold but would it really have been better if he was sniveling and pleading? That didn't make Dorian look that evil to me or Mina look that good.

Also Nemo 'inventing' the automobile? Are they not aware that horseless carriages AKA automobiles were already being marketed by 1899 but Quartermain asks 'What's that monstrosity?' Has he been under a rock? And we're supposed to believe Nemo built a 1940s style lemo in 1899 anyway and has a sailor as his chaufer?

Under tight scrutiny League of Extraordinary Gentlemen would require a TARDIS for those characters to all meet at those points in their lives. Just because they're all from the nineteenth century does not mean that their stories can mesh with a plausible storyline. My grandfather was born in the 1920s. That doesn't mean he and I could be teenagers together because I was born in 1981.

This film can be fun as brain candy but under tight observation it makes little sense and it's blatantly obvious the director didn't read or respect the original novels the characters came from, which is a shame because the original purpose of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen's graphic novel was to try to get young people interested in reading the classics.

I had hoped the novelization would clear up some of these inconsistencies but it did not. it thinly glossed over them. I noticed the author of the book even tried to avoid mentioning Dorian's hair because they seemed to know he's actually blonde in the original novel and did not want to draw attention to that.

There is more detail in the novelization, of course. That's a lot more than what I can say about the Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's chest novelization but it certainly did not help to fix the continuity errors of the film and in fact, despite the author's efforts to avoid them, seeing them written in text just made them more apparent.

29 of 33 people found the following review helpful.
Here's something extraordinary . . .
By Luís Rodrigues
The tacking reviews of the original graphic novel to the movie tie-in novelization. It can easily mislead unwary buyers into thinking Kevin J. Anderson's potboiler writing in any way compares to Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill's work, or even -- god forbid -- deserves to ride piggyback on the same ratings and reviews.
My suggestion: skip the movie and the tie-in altogether, and save your cash for the graphic novels.

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~~ Free PDF Star Trek: New Frontier: After the Fall (Star Trek: The Next Generation), by Peter David

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Three years have passed since the events depicted in the novel, Stone and Anvil, and for the past and present crew members of the U.S.S. Excalibur, life has taken many surprising twists and turns. Captain Elizabeth Shelby has been promoted to admiral and heads Space Station Bravo...while her former ship, the U.S.S. Trident, has a new captain. Soleta has left Starfleet to embrace the perils of exploring her Romulan heritage. The powerful Zak Kebron serves as the Excalibur's counselor and head of security. And Mackenzie Calhoun? Well, Mackenzie Calhoun's still who he is.

As Si Cwan, prime minister of the New Thallonian Protectorate, prepares to marry off his sister Kalinda in a politically advantageous pairing that will strengthen his newly restored empire, the bride-to-be is abducted just before the wedding in a calamitous event that threatens to destabilize the entire sector -- especially since Kalinda's abductor is someone all too familiar. As the Excalibur, the Trident, and the entire Thallonian fleet attempt to bring order to their sector of space, no one could ever suspect that a mysterious alien force may also be playing a part in Kalinda's disappearance -- and that the entire galaxy may soon face a long-forgotten enemy.

• Sales Rank: #367918 in Books
• Brand: Brand: Pocket Books/Star Trek
• Model: 1668560
• Published on: 2005-12-01
• Released on: 2005-12-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.75" h x 1.40" w x 4.19" l, .39 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

Features

• Used Book in Good Condition

Review
"Simply surrender and go along for the ride.... This is one of David's most raucous, unpredictable Star Trek novels to date -- a sheer breezy delight to read."
-- Wigglefish.com

About the Author
Peter David is a prolific New York Times bestselling author whose career, and continued popularity, spans more than two decades. He has worked in every conceivable media—television, film, books (fiction, nonfiction, and audio), short stories, and comic books—and acquired loyal followings in all of them. In the literary field, he has had more than a hundred novels published. He lives in New York with his wife and four children. 

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Half a book
By Annie
I usually think Peter David is the author I can trust to be the most fun, so my low star rating is not that.
This is only half a book. "To be continued" Every reader deserves to know that before they buy a book, especially a pricier book like this one.
My other complaint is the huge gap in story lines from the previous book. Yes David tried to explain that, but frankly, there is too much missing. There is at least a full book's worth of stories in that gap before this story even starts.
The dialog was the usual witty fare, but maybe the characters are getting a little too childish, or just the childishness and irresponsibility of Starship captain's and Admirals is getting old.
The story as continued in the sequel is a good one with several major twists, but at least one of them Is telegraphed which you should have figured out by the end of the first book if not sooner. I do dislike one plot choice but that's just me and I won't give it away.

7 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
Enjoyable
By Avander Promontory
After what seemed like a very long wait, I eagerly sat down with this book and polished it off in 3.5 hours. The negatives: Hardcover price (midigated by Amazon). The "to be continued" (again, and having to wait another year for it) A negative tone (ie, Characters had almost all negative conversations and relationships, with no positive character development, I know conflict is central for good writting, but it would be nice to see the characters experience a little happiness now and again.)

The Positives:

With the jump forward, this book was able to put in a lot of events and developments to characters we have grown to love. Especially since the last book (Stone and Anvil) took place over less than a week, it was nice to see some life changes. Even with the expanding cast, most characters were fit in at least in cameo, and were mentioned more.

There was typical David humor, and some really funny bits, a scene in the throne room literally had me laughing outloud, for awhile.

Other thoughts:

The publisher's review is a little misleading in places, but the story makes up for it. Unfortunately it also spoils some of the artificial suppense David created for the introduction of our characters in a new light. Many of the changes are left unexplained, but it seems that the information will be fleshed in eventually.

I'd recommend this book, and the seris, at least for a read, even if you have to borrow it from the library until the paperback comes out as it is one that I'll be reread several times.

7 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
A Joke in the Hand is Worth Two in the Book
By barbre
Although filled with some interesting plots and characterizations I was disappointed by the "Naked Gun" type of story telling. I think every character has a "don't call me Shirley" moment and it is annoying to say the least. But, I am a huge fan of New Frontiers and anything is better than nothing. Indeed, the scene involving Calhoun in the council chamber is incredible (I'll say no more to avoid spoilage).

My overall impression is that this novella was rushed out and doesn't represent the quality we have come to expect from Mr. David. Yet, even in this short, comic stretch it is good to see our New Frontier friends.

A side note. The letter to the readers at the beginning was very strange. Essentially, Mr. David lectured the reader that these are his characters and he would do what he pleases with them. That is part of my basis for thinking this was not a novella that was ready for publication. Very strange.

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IF YOU THOUGHT THAT THE X-FILES WAS ONLY FICTION, THINK AGAIN!
For as long as extraterrestrial and paranormal phenomena have been investigated, the official government response to any events deemed "otherworldly" or unexplainable has been well documented: DENIAL. Not because they aren't interested in UFOs, monsters, and psychic abilities -- but because they have their own secret agendas for using this knowledge.
In this thoroughly researched compendium of conspiracies and cover-ups, the remarkable findings that have been documented (and supposedly debunked) by the governments of the United States, Great Britain, and the former Soviet Union are finally revealed, including

• Attempts by the U.S. Air Force to build a fleet of nuclear-powered flying saucers...
  
• The British military's files on the Loch Ness monster and other mysterious beasts...
  
• The Cold War race between the CIA and the KGB to create the perfect psychic spy/assassin...
  
• The real story behind the enigmatic "Men in Black," who terrify UFO witnesses into silence...
  

For anyone who wants to know the truth -- or the truth behind the truth -- Strange Secrets is the ultimate resource to understanding exactly what the government doesn't want us to know -- and why they want to keep us in the dark.

• Sales Rank: #755256 in Books
• Brand: Brand: Pocket Books
• Published on: 2003-05-01
• Released on: 2003-05-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.25" h x .80" w x 5.31" l, .95 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 336 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9780743469760
• Condition: New
• Notes: BRAND NEW FROM PUBLISHER! 100% Satisfaction Guarantee. Tracking provided on most orders. Buy with Confidence! Millions of books sold!

From Publishers Weekly
Redfern and Roberts, both experienced writers on UFOs and the paranormal, preface their study of real-life X-files by admitting that "the nature of intelligence work requires agencies to obtain information on just about anything and everything that might conceivably have a bearing on national security." So it's no surprise that "documentation on the 'unknown' has been created and studied at an official level." The authors have uncovered such files from the U.S., British and former Soviet governments touching on alien visitations, the use of psychic spies and other strange subjects. A local vampire legend was used by the U.S. in the Philippines as part of a psy-ops program. The authors discuss reports that the British government convened a secret ministerial briefing to discuss the mysterious crop circles that had started appearing in the 1980s. And they explore the possibility that some supposed UFO sightings were actually of highly advanced, secret technology being tested by the U.S. government. This is a trove of entertaining stories for X-files fans and government skeptics.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc.

About the Author
Nick Redfern began his writing career in the 1980s on Zero -- a British-based magazine devoted to music, fashion, and the world of entertainment. He has written eight books, including Body Snatchers in the Desert: The Horrible Truth at the Heart of the Roswell Story, and has contributed articles to numerous publications, including the London Daily Express, Eye Spy magazine, and Military Illustrated. He lives in Dallas, Texas.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Part One

High Strangeness

One

Around in Circles

Exactly who, or what, is responsible for peppering Britain's landscape with the now familiar crop circles and the fantastically elaborate "pictogram" designs has been hotly debated for years. Indeed, worldwide interest in the subject is so intense that it even became a key aspect of the summer 2002 blockbuster movie starring Mel Gibson, Signs.

Official interest in these mysterious "circles" began early on. According to the Wall Street Journal of August 28, 1989, "British agriculture and defense officials want to know more about the mysterious crop circles which have appeared across the countryside...so does Queen Elizabeth, who is said to have sharply questioned Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher about the circles recently. While those talks are kept secret, a Buckingham Palace spokesman says the Queen took a hurriedly published book about the circles to her summer palace in Scotland this month."

Numerous theories have been advanced to try to explain the phenomenal number of designs that have appeared throughout the country (and now, the world) since the 1980s, but opinions remain sharply divided. For the "believers," crop circles are the work of UFOs, some form of vaguely defined "earth energy," or some other inexplicable phenomenon. For many, however, the human factor is overriding. Indeed, good evidence shows that many of the pictograms are the work of human beings.

In the latter part of 2000, for instance, a Welshman named Matthew Williams hit the headlines when he was arrested for causing criminal damage in a field in Wiltshire, England. Williams had created under cover of darkness a highly elaborate pictogram of the type that many crop-circle researchers believed -- and continue to believe -- could only be made by a currently unexplained medium. Little wonder, then, that the matter remains unresolved to everyone's satisfaction.

But what of the possibility that the circles -- whatever their origin -- have attracted the attention of officialdom, as the Wall Street Journal suggested was the case in 1989? One man who claims to have such knowledge is crop-circle researcher George Wingfield. Eton-educated and previously employed at the Royal Greenwich Observatory, Wingfield claims that in September 1990 the British government called a secret ministerial briefing to debate the circles. According to Wingfield's sources, the meeting was supposedly convened to try to determine the nature of the circles, lest the British government be placed in the potentially embarrassing position of having to admit its ignorance of the phenomenon.

A similar but more personal experience comes from a Royal Air Force medic, Jonathan Turner, who was stationed at RAF Lyneham, Wiltshire, in 1991. He recalls that on July 15 of that year, a crop circle was discovered on nearby Hackpen Hill. Shortly afterward, examples of the more elaborate pictograms began appearing too. His interest piqued, Turner visited the area on an off-duty day and took some photographs of the various patterns and formations that had appeared. As he soon learned, however, Turner was not alone.

Parked near a run-down farm building was a car: a Royal Air Force Police car. Turner subsequently had a brief conversation with the police officer and questioned him about his presence. This provoked a cryptic response from the RAF policeman, who admitted that he was "monitoring the activity on the downs regarding the crop circles."

And the stories continue of official interest, in one form or another. The film director John McNeish claims that he received an order from Buckingham Palace for a copy of his book Crop Circle Apocalypse.

But to what extent can such tales of official interest in crop circles be validated? Do governmental, military, and intelligence files exist on this topic? The answer is yes -- at least, to an extent.

The earliest documented example of official interest in unusual crop formations dates not, as might be expected, from the 1980s or 1990s, but from the 1940s and the battle-scarred landscape of wartime Britain. This example implicates one of Britain's most secretive intelligence agencies, MI5, in the mystery.

In March 1909, the British government instructed its Committee of Imperial Defense to consider the dangers posed to British naval ports by German espionage agents. On October 1 of that year, Captain Vernon Kell of the South Staffordshire Regiment and Captain Mansfield Cumming of the Royal Navy jointly established the Secret Service Bureau. To fulfill the Admiralty's requirement for information about Germany's new navy, Kell and Cumming divided their work; Kell became responsible for counterespionage within the British Isles, while Cumming coordinated the collection and analysis of overseas intelligence data.

Between March 1909 and the outbreak of the First World War, more than thirty spies were identified and arrested by the Secret Service Bureau. At the time the bureau had a staff of only ten, but it was rapidly mobilized as a branch of the War Office and in January 1916 became part of the new Directorate of Military Intelligence and was known thereafter as MI5.

In early 1941, Sir David Petrie was appointed the first director general of the Security Service and was given substantial resources to rebuild the organization. As a result MI5 became one of the most efficient agencies of the war. After the defeat of the Nazis in 1945, it was learned that all of the Nazi agents targeted against Britain had been identified, and in some cases recruited as double agents, by MI5 -- something that contributed to the success of the Allied landing in Normandy on D day on June 6, 1944. But what, you may ask, does this have to do with the crop-circle mystery?

In 2001 a number of files pertaining to the wartime activities of MI5 were declassified and made available for inspection at the Public Record Office, Kew. One dealt with MI5 investigations of "markings on the ground," "suspicious pieces of paper and messages," "marked maps," and "markings on telegraph poles." According to the report:

The early days of 1940 and 1941 produced an avalanche of reports about the spys [sic] and fifth columnists who many people thought were roaming the land unhindered. Each village boasted of "enemy agents" in their midst, and it is only by recapturing the atmosphere of those days that one can see the matter in its proper perspective. Everyone had heard of the activities of fifth columnists on the continent and of the alarmingly successful part they had played in the overthrow of France and Belgium. It was therefore natural with everyone tense for the threatened invasion that so many reports came in. Each had to be investigated, even if only to put the minds of the public and the services at rest.

The report outlines the nature of its content:

This account is not concerned with the activities of fifth columnists such as sabotage, capturing airfields and key points, and harassing the defending army, but in the methods used in communicating to each other and to the enemy. Reports from Poland, Holland, France and Belgium showed that they used ground markings for the guidance of bombers and paratroops (and of lights by night). Such ground markings might be the cutting of cornfields into guiding marks for aircraft, painting of roofs and the inside of chimneys white, setting haystacks on fire, and laying out strips of white linen in pre-arranged patterns. For guiding and giving information to advancing troops they would conceal messages behind advertisement hoardings and leave markings on walls and telegraph poles.

For the most part, the unusual markings on telegraph poles, roofs, and chimneys were dismissed as having perfectly innocent explanations and indicates how rumor and misperception can run wildly out of control at times of hostility and high stress. But what of the "ground markings" in cornfields?

From interviews conducted with personnel who had taken part in the hostilities in Poland, MI5 had determined that one of the ways that Nazi spies were communicating with German Luftwaffe pilots was by "beating out signs," twenty meters in diameter, "on harrowed fields or mowing such signs on meadows or cornfields." Crop circles, in other words!

In a section of the report titled "Examples of Ground Markings Investigated," a still-anonymous MI5 employee wrote:

1. Field at Little Mill, Monmouthshire.

In May 1941 a report was made that an unusual mark was visible amongst the growing corn. Near one of the gates was a mark in the form of the letter "G," some 33 yards long. This mark had been made by sowing barley transversely through the grain. Air photographs were taken and it was seen that the tail of the marking pointed towards the Ordnance factory at Glascoed. The farmer, a man of good character, was interviewed, and admitted that he had sown the field himself. He explained that he had sold the field in April. Shortly after, having a drilling machine nearby which had a small quantity of barley seed in it, and wishing to empty it as he had to return it to the farmer from whom he had borrowed it that night, he turned his team of horses into the grain field and drilled it into the ground thickly to get rid of it. He did this because it is extremely difficult to remove the grain in the machine by hand, and to sow it was the quickest way of getting rid of it. He agreed to plough up this part of the field. As a satisfactory explanation had been reached, the case was carried no further.

2. Field, north of Newquay, Cornwall.

Aircraft noticed, in May 1940, strange marking in this field and it was photographed. Enquiries were made and it was found that the lines were formed by heaps of lime used for agricultural purposes. The farmer concerned was above reproach and removed the lime heaps.

3. Field, near Staplehurst, Kent.

In October 1943, aircraft saw a faint white circle on the ground with the word MARDEN inscribed in it. Enquiries were made, and it was discovered that before the war the field was used as an emergency landing ground by Imperial Airways; the mark was made by them, and they paid a small yearly rent to the farmer. At the beginning of the war the mark was obliterated in some way, but this had worn thin. Steps were taken to obliterate it again.

So these examples of unusual wartime formations found in cornfields were determined not be related to the activities of the Nazis and instead had wholly down-to-earth explanations. But this intriguing aspect of MI5's wartime activities is notable for one key reason: it demonstrates that official bodies within Britain have investigated unusual crop formations to determine if they are in any way representative of a threat to the British Isles.

In the postwar period, the next example we have of official involvement in crop-circle-like phenomena dates from early 1964. On March 23 of that year, the Reverend T. E. T. Burbury of Clifton Rectory, Penrith, England, wrote to the National Physical Laboratory at Teddington, which in turn forwarded his letter to the British Air Ministry via the Meteorological Office at Bracknell, about a crop-circle-forming blue light he had seen.

Does an apparent column of blue light about eight feet in diameter and about fifteen feet high which disperses and leaves a mark of very slightly disturbed earth, the same diameter, mean anything to you?

I examined the ground which is about one hundred yards from the nearest building and there are no pylons near. There was no sign of burning, either by sight or smell; the grass growing between the exposed ground appeared quite normal. There were no signs of bird tracks or droppings; the ground simply appeared to have been lightly raked over in almost perfect circle.

In this case, the Air Ministry seemed less than impressed with the report and suggested in an internal memorandum that the encounter probably had more to do with the condition of the liver of the witness than it did with anything else.

The key witness in this 1964 encounter was eventually tracked down by the crop-circle investigator Paul Fuller. Robert Ellis informed Fuller that at approximately 9:30 P.M. on the night in question the family's dog began to howl in the vicinity of an outbuilding where it slept at night. Thinking that some stock might have broken loose, Ellis went to check and noticed that the tops of two nearby apple trees were lit up by a blue light. He told Fuller:

"Approximately one hundred yards from where I stood was a vivid 'electric blue' light. Its shape was elliptical. It stayed in a horizontal position, remaining motionless and making no audible sound. I could see no detail within the light; in fact I had to shade my eyes with my hand, the light was so intense. I was quite frightened -- being alone -- and quickly went indoors. By that time I had calmed down and opened the curtains and shutters of the front window to look out again in that direction, all was in darkness."

According to Ellis, an inspection of the area the following morning revealed a circular depression as described by Burbury. "In some places the disturbance was two inches deep as if the area had been vigorously raked. The roots of the grass were damaged and the circle remained visible well into May of that year."

The lack of official interest in this 1964 case is in direct contrast to the concern shown over the wartime 1940s cases. Would MI5 be interested in the crop-circle phenomenon since the 1980s? We don't know. But we have found one aspect of the current phenomenon very interesting.

Most of the crop circles in the British Isles have been found in the county of Wiltshire, which is also home to Porton Down, the British government's Chemical and Biological Defense Establishment; Salisbury Plain, an area used for military training purposes; Boscombe Down, from where new and experimental aircraft are flown; and RAF Rudloe Manor, a secretive military establishment that until 1998 was home to an elite body of the Royal Air Force known as the Provost and Security Services.

Could the crop circles be coded messages left for terrorist or subversive groups intent on disrupting activities at Porton Down, Boscombe Down, Rudloe Manor, and Salisbury Plain? Or could the phenomenon be produced by the British military itself?

Let us now turn our attention to the United States. A report titled "Summary of Circumstances: Investigation of Possible Unidentified Flying Object -- Arlington, Virginia, 1-2 September 1952" was found at the National Archives, Maryland, in the now declassified UFO-related investigative files of the U.S. Air Force's Office of Special Investigations. It is of interest and relevance because it deals with the discovery and investigation of an "an unusual circle."

1. At 1600 hours on 3 Sep 52, the Directorate of Intelligence, HQ USAF received a telephone call from Mr. Storm, SE, Washington, that an unusual circle was found marked on the lawn of his father, Mr. Storm, on the morning of 2 Sep 52 and that he believed it might bear some relation to the USAF investigation of unidentified flying objects.

2. Major Fournet, of the D/I, called on the elder Mr. Storm at his residence, Arlington, Va., during the evening of 3 Sep 52.

3. The following was found on Mr. Storm's rear lawn:

a. A circle 18 feet in diameter and nearly perfectly formed was marked on the lawn by a deposit of some unknown gray substance which was adhering to the grass in clusters of fine globules.

b. The band of the circle (around the periphery) was an average of approximately 6 inches wide.

c. The deposits in the band were less pronounced and sometimes absent for short distances where depressions or unevenness in the ground surface occurred.

d. A small evergreen bush was located at a point about 40 inches inside the circle and did not appear to have been disturbed in any way nor were any deposits present on or around it.

e. A clothes line frame located on a central pole overhung the circle somewhat and had been in place on the night in question.

f. An antenna wire about 40 feet above the ground overhung the circle, exact amount undetermined.

g. No other vegetation in the area contained any deposits or marks (small trees were present, as close as 6 or 8 feet from the circle).

h. Three types of fertilizer were stored in covered drums near the garage about 15 feet away from the circle.

4. Mr. and Mrs. Storm were interviewed and offered the following information:

a. Mr. Storm cut the grass in the area in question around 1800-1900 hours on 1 Sep 52. The clippings were left where they fell.

b. At 2300 hours on 1 Sep 52, Mr. Storm put his dog in the basement for the night. (Note: the dog barks at anyone who comes into the yard, and, until that time, had not sounded off.)

c. (As related to Mr. Storm later by Mrs. [deleted] a neighbor immediately in the rear of the Storm residence and adjacent to the lawn in question.) Mrs. [deleted] was awakened at about 0400 hours on 2 Sep 52 by barking of dog "which seemed to be in distress." She looked out of a window in the rear of her house but failed to see anything (it was a rather dark night).

d. Upon going out to his car at 0730 hours 2 Sep 52, Mr. Storm noticed the circle and walked over to examine it. He describes it as having at that time a brown, oily-sandy appearance with what seemed to be a very fine granular structure (as though a fine sand mixed with light oil had been spread to form the ring). He rubbed some of the substance between his fingers and found it faintly gritty and definitely oily. Mrs. Storm corroborates this description.

e. During mid-afternoon of 2 Sep 52 Mrs. Storm reexamined the ring and found that the color had changed to grayish blue, and it no longer appeared to be oily. However it still felt oily but no longer felt gritty. She detected no odor upon smelling it.

f. Upon returning from work at 1700 hours 2 Sep 52, Mr. Storm again examined it with his wife. He describes the color as purplish-gray; Mrs. Storm describes the color as bluish gray. Both agree that the substance had begun to form small, closely-packed globules on the blades of grass and that it had begun to "crystallize." Mr. Storm states that it then felt slick (like graphite) when rubbed between the fingers; Mrs. Storm describes it as a powdery feel. (NOTE: There has been no rain since before the evening of 1 Sep 52, and there was a hot sun all day on 2 Sep 52. However, there was a heavy rainfall during the night of 2/3 Sep 52.)

g. During the morning of 3 Sep 52, Mr. Storm reexamined it and "was surprised to find it there after so much rain." He describes its appearance as darker (a slate gray) and still formed in globules on the grass blades. It still felt about like graphite. Perhaps a bit "thinner" than the preceding evening.

5. Mr. and Mrs. [deleted] were not at home and, therefore, were not interviewed.

6. Samples of grass, leaves and soil, and of three types of fertilizer stored nearby were removed for analysis.

7. Mr. and Mrs. Storm were very cooperative and appeared to be completely sincere. They stated that they have not recently evinced much interest in the subject of unidentified flying objects nor had they discussed the subject with anyone, thereby eliminating any obvious motive for a practical joke.

The Air Force recommended that the relevant samples be forwarded to the FBI laboratory for analysis. While this was done, followed by some discussion of the possibility of contamination from fertilizers, the case was left frustratingly unresolved.

Forty years later, official interest in such phenomena continues on the part of U.S. intelligence. Files released by the ultrasecret National Security Agency, for example, detail accounts of crop circles appearing in fields in northern Germany in the 1990s and claims that they were made by human beings. Additional papers from the same time frame declassified by the NSA refer to "mysterious, small circles" that had appeared on the walls of tunnels in Japan's underground railway system that were believed to be caused by a plasma emanating from high-voltage railway power lines.

These records clearly demonstrate that crop circles and crop-circle-like phenomena have been investigated at an official level on both sides of the Atlantic from the early 1940s to the mid-1990s. To what extent similar investigations may have continued since then, however, still has many researchers of the puzzle going, quite literally, around in circles.

Copyright © 2003 by Nick Redfern and Andy Roberts

Most helpful customer reviews

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Nothing Special About This Book
By David Gesell
Like the title says, nothing special about this book. It briefly touches on a few subjects, and I mean Very BRIEFLY, such as crop circles, Noah's ark, spontaneous combustion, flying saucers, the government black-baggers, Mind Science (Telekinesis, Telepathy), and the Loch Ness Monster.

This book is for someone who absolutely has never heard of any of this stuff, and is just looking to skim the surface on a few topics. Nothing more. The information in this book is not very detailed at all and hardly presents any useful information to someone actually studying these topics.

Personally this book did not keep my attention at really any point in time. Though, it didn't take me long to read because there's hardly any info on each page. It's almost as though they were just trying to fill a certain amount of pages.

To sum it all up, if you've ever caught some of the documentaries shown on the Discovery Channel or History Channel, where the entire show is dedicated to providing bias and non-biased so-called facts about phenomenon and by the end of the show, the narrator leaves you hanging with "Will we ever really know if blah blah blah really exists??!?!". Well, yeah, that's this book. But hey, it's only 99 cents on amazon. So if you're looking for a book to maybe fill one of those "waiting on the good book to arrive in the mail" weeks, then this is your book.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Strange and Sometimes Boring Secrets
By Elliot Malach
The book is a compilation of research into unexplained paranormal activity and events from crop circles to UFOs to spontaneous human combustion. (Yeah, no joke.)

It's got the usual governmental suspects denying everything but contradicting their own reports. Of course the juicy parts of the released reports are still blacked out.

Most of it is interesting but rather dry. Some of it, like the part on remote viewing, I wouldn't even consider "strange" or "secret" by today's standards. If you're in to the conspiracy theory stuff, add this one to your collection.

10 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
Watching the Watchmen
By A Customer
I felt this book was worth the time spent reading for what was left out as much as what it contained. It dwells on the reams of unclassified files from American and British archives and the strange things studied by these governments. The authors go out of their way to say that they have not uncovered evidence of Bigfoot, the Greys, or psychic powers. Considering the subject area, these disavowals keep the overall tone of the book impartial and believable.
That is NOT to say that both the American and British governments were never interested in these and other subjects. The authors dwell on actual files discussing crop circles, the Mt. Ararat anomaly, UFOs, psychic phenomena, cattle mutilation, the Loch Ness monster, and spontaneous human combustion. There is extensive quotation from such documents throughout the book, which provides an insightful look at how our governments approached these issues. In a few places the authors put forth plausible theories behind certain events, but never do they cross the line into overblown speculation.
Our society's fascination with the paranormal is as important as paranormal events themselves. This book is a great resource for someone interested in how official investigations have tackled the subject.

See all 11 customer reviews...

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^ Ebook Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care: 8th Edition, by Benjamin Spock

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A revised and updated edition of the standard guide to baby and child care includes new material on computers and the Internet, nontraditional families, physical and moral development, disabilities, first aid and injury prevention, immunization, and other challenges and responsibilities of modern pa

• Sales Rank: #710196 in Books
• Published on: 2004-06-01
• Released on: 2004-06-01
• Ingredients: Example Ingredients
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.25" h x 1.62" w x 5.31" l, 1.45 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 992 pages

About the Author
Benjamin Spock, M.D., practiced pediatrics in New York City from 1933 to 1947. He then became a medical teacher and researcher at the Mayo Clinic, the University of Pittsburgh, and Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland. The author of eleven books, he was a political activist for causes that vitally affect children: disarmament, day care, schooling, housing, and medical care for all. He had two sons, a stepdaughter, and four grandchildren. Dr. Spock, who died March 15, 1998, at age ninety-four, was married to Mary Morgan. Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care has been translated into thirty-nine languages and has sold fifty million copies worldwide since its first publication in 1946.

Most helpful customer reviews

25 of 26 people found the following review helpful.
Essential Guide!
By Delilah
This book has the most common sense approach to parenting I have seen to date. Very much an advocate of trusting your own instincts, he allows parents to be comfortable with their decisions.

A great reference guide, quick answers to a lot of those questions that new parents have... even the ones that they don't know they have, and the ones they don't want to admit that they have.

I highly recommend this book!

**********************UPDATE************************

So, my son is 4 now, and my dog-eared copy of Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care still has a place of prominence on my bookshelf.
This book helped me get through a couple of awful colds. It helped me figure out childproofing. Struggles with toilet training (best advice ever- stop struggling!), dinner-time (same advice! :-) ) So many little (and big) questions were answered with this book.

I could research things in the book, prior to taking my son for his well-baby checkups.

I'm a single mom with a really supportive family - that lives a thousand miles away. Dr. Spock helped fill the gaps. It's not a bible, it's not infallible- I don't completely agree, but I don't completely agree with my mother either!

I just can't recommend this book enough.

**********************2nd Update!******************************

My son is now a 7 year old second grader. And we're a part of a blended family.

I've just pulled my extremely well used copy of Dr. Spock's Baby and Child care off my shelf again and find myself looking to it for help.
I think I'll need to buy another copy, as mine is dog eared to the point of falling apart- through no fault of the book, just from constant use.

If I could convince everyone to buy just one book to help them raise a child- this would be it.

What to do about lying, once a child tries it? What to do about bullies, when they're encountered in school? Should I call the doctor about that rash? My child suddenly developed some new, and strange fears - what should I do?
These are all questions that I turned to Dr. Spock for. And all things that Dr. Spock helped me with.

I LOVE this book!

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Still the best child care book in the world
By Fran Haynes
Still the best child care book in the world. I bought it for my granddaughter to use for my great grand. When I purchased it over 50 years ago, it was my baby bible. There is nothing Dr. Spock does not cover. Outstanding.

7 of 8 people found the following review helpful.
Conservative, Informative, and Practical
By A Customer
I am an attorney, not a pediatrician nor psychiatrist. When my wife and I were expecting our first child three years ago, we recognized our lack of experience and our need of reference material on how to raise a child. Advice from the Grandparents, while well-intentioned, needed to be "double-checked" for accuracy. This book was in our first order of "how to"s.
The topics are broken down in numerical paragraphs, and are often very concise. This works well for us, when we get the crazy idea that our child may have some rare disease or condition, or that he isn't developing on schedule (at least, not according family members). We can then get a brief bit of insight, usually enough to reassure us.
The advice is conservative, informative, and practical. As with any suggestions, you may wish to compare it to what is being told to you by your pediatrician, the Grandparents, and other sources. We found this to be a good reference, and return to it when needed. It is the second best one we have, after the American Academy of Pediatrics guide from birth to age five (also a "must have").
I would recommend this text as a nice supplemental reference.

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